


The Lion and the Wolf

by October_rust



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF, ASoIaF Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:28:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/October_rust/pseuds/October_rust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sword fight between the Kingslayer and Ned Stark's bastard has an unexpected resolution.</p><p>(written in response to the asoiaf kinkmeme prompt: http://robellion.livejournal.com/2809.html)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lion and the Wolf

The boy bowed awkwardly, suspicion still lurking in his dark grey eyes.

“Forgive me, ser. Mayhap I was too quick to judge you.”

 _Quite the contrary, dear Jon. You may be named Snow, but this naïvety proves well enough that you are a Stark through and through._ Why the conversation with the green youth had him so riled, Jaime could not tell. Still, something in him refused to let go, urging him to replace the verbal barbs with the music of the clashing blades.

“All forgiven. Meet me here come dusk. I will gladly teach you some new tricks, and, with luck, you will live a little longer to nobly guard the realm from snarks and grumkins.”

He had to hide his smirk when the boy bristled anew at the slur to the Night's Watch. Nonetheless, Snow was prudent enough to remember with whom he was speaking and expressed his gratitude for Jaime's offer.

 _So predictable._ Jaime turned, dismissing the bastard. Yet his blood run faster at the prospect of crossing swords with someone who resembled Ned Stark to such an uncanny degree. Besides, between the dinner with the Starks, playing a nursemaid to the drunken King and enduring the northern chill, he could not hope for a better evening entertainment.

***

The sun set and the bastard was indeed waiting for him in the yard. Soon, the lethal dance began.

 _The lad is good._ Jaime had to give him that - not only was the boy quick on his feet, but this youthful nimbleness was coupled with considerable strength and skill. They thrust and parried, their movements alternatively rapid or deceptively slow, the ragged breaths and the melody of swords the only sounds to disturb the stillness. _Good,_ Jaime conceded, _but still no match for the Kingslayer._

 _You have much to learn._ With powerful swipes, Jaime proceeded to show exactly how much he found Jon's skills wanting. In the next moment, the sword flew from the boy's hand to land in the dirt, the steel gleaming dull red in the light cast by the torches. The point of Jaime's blade came to rest at the hollow of Snow's throat.

“Do you yield?”

With a start, he realized his voice had lowered to that dangerous purr Cersei was so fond of hearing during their heated, forbidden trysts. Inexplicably, Jaime's eyes were drawn to the strong neck, the thin crimson line already blossoming against the pale skin.

Silence. Jaime's gaze travelled to the boy's face, where dismay and defiance warred. _Oh. So he fancies himself a noble knight of the House Stark. Too good to surrender to the likes of me?_ The sword dug deeper.

“Do you yield?”

An angry look, then a curt nod. The tangled locks obscured Jon's features as he bowed his head, but even defeated, the bastard was every inch a proud son of the northern kings.

“You won, ser. It was a great honour to spar with you and I thank you for this lesson.”

The perfectly courteous words were clipped. _No. You most certainly have not yielded._ Fury welled in Jaime, and, before he knew what he was doing, he had the hard steel under the boy's chin, forcing his face up. He suspected his own eyes must have become akin to emeralds, cold and unforgiving, very much like his lord father's. Snow's pupils widened at the sight.

“Ser?”

There was uncertainty to his voice, youthful awkwardness, and – what made Jaime bare his teeth, just like a lion upon picking up the scent of a wounded prey - the delicious hint of fear.

 _Not so cocky now, once out of your familiar element? You know nothing, Snow._ Jaime discarded the sword, further confusing his opponent.

“Ser … I don't understand …”

“Our lesson is not finished, boy.”

With that, he swung his fist, catching the bastard squarely on the jaw. The force of the blow made Jon stumble, nearly sending him to his knees. Vicious satisfaction coursed through Jaime, yet the boy only shook his head and regained his balance. _What am I doing?_ But it was too late for reflection or regret.

“That was uncalled for. I surrendered, ser.”

Jaime almost laughed at the disappointment in the bastard's – nay, Ned Stark's - eyes. _A knight has to fight fair, especially the one serving in the Kingsguard, hmm? No backstabbing, or slaying your liege lords – oh, Stark, spare me your pathetic righteousness._

He advanced on the boy, who stood there, calm and dignified. _Judging me, just like the father all those years ago ... I, on the Iron Throne, bloodied sword in hand, and him immediately thinking me beyond redemption._

This time, Snow was prepared and caught his fist. Still, he was too young, his strength no match for that of the grown man. Jaime had no qualms about employing every dirty ruse to press his advantage. Soon, he wrestled the boy to the ground, hands clamped firmly around the wrists, his thighs like steel bands to secure the wildly kicking legs.

Indignation in those slate grey irises was very sweet indeed.

“Ser!”

The word was half-plea, half-threat. _All bark and no bite, pup._ The yard was empty, save for the pair of them, both the highborn and the common folk taking part in the revelries, the direwolves confined to the godswood.

“I shall teach you a lesson you will never forget. I'm sure it will vastly help you in finding new friends on the Wall.”

Jon's brow furrowed, incomprehension clearly written on the expressive features. _Innocent, like a maid. Well, you are in for a big surprise._ The thought sent a thrill down Jaime's spine, the predator in him yearning to sink its teeth in the flesh, to maim and kill. Only when one of his hands sneaked between their bodies, did the understanding dawn in the bastard's eyes. Jaime savoured everything: futile rage, burning shame and mounting horror.

He could not help but admire Snow as the boy reined in the rising panic and lay very still beneath, his gaze steady and solemn.

“I have learned my lesson, ser. If I gave you offence, or forgotten my place, then I apologise.”

Jaime smiled down at his captive, a cruel, golden conqueror. _A Lannister always pays his debts._

“I'm glad to hear that. But I think your virtue an apt reward for all the grievances I've suffered from the Starks.”

The words were enough to shatter the walls of Jon's self-composure.

Snow started to struggle in earnest to escape the unwanted touch. Jaime's muscles strained with the effort it took to pin him down, his fingers tearing at the leather, deftly loosening the laces, clasps and fastenings.

“Feisty. Keep that up, boy.”

At first, Jon seemed oblivious to the mockery, wriggling and bucking like an untamed colt, accustomed neither to the prickle of the spur nor the bite of the bridle, thus all the keener to unseat the rider. _I will break you in, never fear._ Suddenly, his movements faltered, and his eyes, alarmed, flew to Jaime's, mutely asking for an explanation. The roll of Jaime's hips sufficed to make Jon freeze.

“Ah, yes. This is your work, lord Snow. Quite a talented whore you've turned out to be.”

A growl, ending with a low sob, gave evidence that the callous words registered through the haze of terror and outrage. Jaime leaned in, letting his lips brush the flushed cheek, not surprised to taste the salt there.

“Mmm, the famous northern hospitality. Mayhap I shall visit more often, to sample the wares, so to speak. You Starks sure know how to keep your guests warm and satisfied.”

He laughed, anger mingling with a grudging approval, when sharp, white teeth almost found his jugular. _Careful, wolf-boy, for you are sorely testing the patience of the lion._ The punishment was swift; Jaime's fingers dug in the mass of dark hair and gave a violent yank, the bastard's skull colliding painfully with the ground. This proved a most effective strategy, having left Snow momentarily dazed and vulnerable.

Not the one to miss an opening in his enemy's guard, Jaime cupped the boy's groin, the press of the hand firm against the heated flesh. Very little time and even less skill were needed to coax it to hardness. _The blessing and the curse of youth._

Snow's body arched and twisted, whether to stop or encourage what was happening, Jaime could not tell. Another broken cry was joined by the ominous howling of the wolf, a desperate note reverberating through the night air.

“Sacks of meat and blood, boy, and you are no different,” Jaime whispered in Jon's ear. His vision swam, the surge of power almost unbearable, as warmth spilled across his fingers and the hoarse shout signalled Snow's release.

Exhausted, the bastard did not offer much resistance, save for a faint gasp, his lips parting easily under Jaime's probing tongue. This last intimacy was the worst, he knew. Even whores kissed their clients with great reluctance, deeming the act too meaningful to be traded for a coin. _Have you ever dreamed of a lady love, some maiden fair to whom you would come unsullied, like a parfit knight, to share chaste caresses?_ Purposely, he made the kiss carnal and hungry, his fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of Snow's neck. The boy's stubble rasped against his mouth, the sensation, along with the feeling of absolute conquest, enough for Jaime to spend himself.

Spiked with moisture, Snow's dark lashes contrasted sharply with the pallor of the skin. Jaime kissed the closed lids, then let his forehead rest against the bastard's, trying to catch his breath. _That was unexpected._ Only on the battlefield or inside Cersei had he felt so alive and free. But the weight of sins, old and recent, was soon to descend and extinguish this fire. Wordlessly, he straightened the boy's clothes. When his hand strayed to touch Jon's chin, however, strong fingers clamped around his wrist.

“One day I shall kill you for that,” Snow muttered, self-disgust at his body's betrayal swiftly replacing the pleasure-induced stupor.

 _Ned Stark's bastard on a quest to avenge his virtue taken by the filthy Lannister. What a ballad it would make!_ His eyes roamed, memorizing the noble features, the long limbs, the lines of hard muscle. The pang of lust in his gut was still acute, but tempered by the certainty that the moment had passed and the situation come to its natural conclusion. _Once again, I've proved worthy of my name: Oathbreaker. Slaughtering the helpless, and now debauching the innocent as well._

“If you truly want this to happen, go to the Wall, practice with your sword, and dream of this glorious day.”

He rose to his feet, turning to disappear in the darkness. A wry smile curved his lips. _Dream of me, Jon Snow._


End file.
